Invictus
by Wishing For Rainy Days
Summary: OneShot. The young Albus Dumbledore is alone in his house at Godric's Hollow... Gellert has left... And Albus looks back on the chain of events that led him to this moment... No explicit romance.


**__**Disclaimer: **__**__The ideas are mine, the characters belong to JK.__

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><p><em>"It matters not how strait the gate,<em>

_ How charged with punishments the scroll,_

_I am the master of my fate,_

_ I am the captain of my soul."_  
><em><strong>Invictus, by William Ernest Henley<strong>_

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><p><strong>Invictus<strong>

Albus Dumbledore was alone.

Accustomed to walk fast across the corridors of the house, ignoring the plurality of locked doors, eager to find himself some place else, any place else, Albus had never sized his family's property. It was but a cottage, after all, within a few miles of what was then a small village, named Godric's Hollow, but it seemed remarkably large to his eyes now that he had it all to himself.

The silence was indisputable, uninterrupted as it was, but by the crackling fire consuming lodges of wood in the fireplace. The flames shed a flickering light over the weathered wallpapers, the books gathered dust over the shelves and a set of glasses shaped like half moons, lied forgotten over the barrel of a vertical piano surprisingly placed in a living room that would hardly bare a grand instrument. The orderly manner in which everything was arranged seemed to laugh at him. If the environment could've expressed the feelings that overpowered him, the piano keys would be screaming in pain and despair.

Albus was part of that scenario. He sat, or rather laid lorn on a chair by the window, his lean figure silhouetted by the greyish sky outside looking sickly and fragile rather than elegantly built, dressed in unkempt garments chosen without care. His overly loose cotton shirt was unbuttoned just below the colar, exposing his pale chest to the breeze wafting from the skylight ahead and the long sleeves extended over his fingers as he attempted to brush some strands of hair the winter wind insisted upon throwing over his eyes.

He was not so far away from the fire as to not feel its warmth and yet he shivered. The nearly empty bottle of fire whisky red on the ground was proof that at some point Albus had used alcohol to maintain his temperature, or at least that he had tried. But that had been several days ago. Perhaps several hours that seemed like a whole lot more.

There was a journal on his left hand and a quill pen in the other, a beautiful witting tool, with a long red feather, hanging a few centimetres away from the page, it's metallic point black with dry ink. Dry for he would insistently dive it in the inkwell and hold it on air, as if uncertain as to what to write, time and time again. Every now and then, he turned his bright blue eyes from the parchment page to the glowing red of the phoenix' feather. Albus used to strip his pens from their barbs, generally regarding them as unnecessary distractions, and although he couldn't be sure as for what had kept him from stealing that particular plum from its beauty, the young wizard doubted he would have been able to write anything more than the date on the top of the page even if he didn't feel the soft touch of the plumage against his skin.

A thunder roared outside. Albus had watched the clouds building up in the sky above for hours, dying it grey in darker and darker shades till the verge of a violent storm which insisted upon announcing itself, refusing, however, to fall. At this point he only wished the storm would silence the poisonous thoughts in his mind, but at a blink of those bright blue eyes Albus was lost in memories one more time.

He had not been happy in this house. Laughably enough, though, it was the only place he could remember. He was not that young when the Dumbledores left molt-on-yhe-would all those years ago, but so many events took place, in their last days at that place, and in such fast succession- He could remember them in so many colours. But nothing before.

His father, of course, would never step foot in Godric's Hollow. He'd been taken to Azkaban prior to their moving, and that's where he'd die in a few years time. Percival did not attempt to conceal his crime. He had no plead other than guilty and he did not resist the ministry law enforcers when they came for him.

Albus knew they were coming. He had overheard his parents conversations on the matter and he would stay by the window the whole day, a beautiful boy, his hair, which had always been long, elegantly tied in a queue, like a military officer, standing over a bench so he could see above the windowsill, wondering what would happen once 'they' – whoever that pronoun meant – finally came.

"They are here, father"

Percival said nothing. He stood up, paying no regard to the wife whose hands had been in his shoulders and walked out the front door, leaving it open. He didn't look back when Kendra called his name, extending her arm in the air as if she could stop him from leaving. He didn't saw her taking her trembling hands to her lips, in an attempt to smoother the sound of her tears. He didn't glance at his elder son, standing thunderstruck, as if waiting for his father to say goodbye. He never looked back.

Alberforth came down the staircase as soon as his father left, and when the handcuffs were magically placed over Percival wrists, the younger child brought down crying, hiding his face in his mother's skirts, her hand, wet with tears of her own, pressing tight his tiny back. She was not attempting to deceive him into believing everything was going to be okay. Kendra knew better.

Thinking again, she never really believed Percival would someday get out of prison. And perhaps that's why she couldn't live in that house anymore. Kendra had no living relatives other than her children, and no one to turn to, in times of trouble. She learned her husbands business, as there was no other choice, and sold everything they had to buy that cottage, in the distant village of Godric's Hollow, a magic neighbourhood where she wouldn't have to worry about what had happened to her daughter. She wouldn't have to worry about muggles at all.

A woman in her thirties who lacked the male companionship of a brother or a husband would always be looked upon with distrust in the misogynous years of the late 19th century, but Kendra had the burden of being the wife of a convicted murderer added to her shoulders. It was not surprising that she hardly visited the village at all, and mostly kept to herself, talking to no one but Miss Bagshot, who lived nearby. Miss Bagshot was a few years older than Lady Dumbledore, and she too was in position of being a single woman in a world ruled by man. Perhaps that's the reason they understood each other well.

Be that as it may, the sadness and pain of the family tragedy robbed Kendra from her youth. Her jet dark hair, always severely arranged in a bun, had been dyed gray by time, and the carved aspect of her facial features, which had been considered formally composed once, gave place to nearly constant dark rings below her eyes. Kendra had never meant to raise her sons without a father, and the loving mother she might have been had she not been made harsh by circumstances disappeared under the burden of that responsibility.

The inattention of his mother did not go unnoticed by Albus. Before long, the boy looked for excuses not to be home, and that's how he found his way into madame Bagshot's library. He was a brilliant student, dedicated, smart, and yet his mother barely acknowledged him at all. Perhaps she thought that, being so intelligent himself, Albus didn't need her as much. Soon he would found the applause he'd yearned for. And his resentment towards his mother would turn to indifference.

Indifference. Divided between the urge to burst into laughter or break down in tears, Albus Dumbledore didn't move in his chair, by the window. He remembered the day, only a few months back, when he learned his mother was no longer alive, and the indifference he had experience at the news. Alberforth, his common and unremarkable brother, extraordinary only in his own ordinariness, was overcome with grief. He mourned their mother's death in a way Albus never could.

He was not sad or surprised, he was not going to miss her, he'd been on his own for a very long time. But he was angry. Angry that her death transferred her responsibilities to him, angry that his future had to be postponed so he could be the head of a family he wanted desperately to leave behind, angry that he had been chained to Godric's Hollow when all he wanted to do was walk away.

Albus had just graduated from Hogwarts, after all, with outstanding N.E.W.E.T.s as it was expected of him, and he had plans for the traditional tour of the continent with Elphias. He wanted to travel the world and see its wonders, to perform magic in different places, to get acquainted with different people, to disclose long lost secrets, to just live, for once, and experience all the things he'd only read about. And one day he woke up, and he was the head of his family, responsible for his brother's education, and for so much more-

Some part of him knew that was selfish. Some part of him knew nothing could justify his anger towards his own mother, and that part of him was ashamed. Too ashamed to even write about any of those thoughts in his journal. But not enough to deny them to himself.

What did it matter what he thought or felt, anyway?

A brilliant young man of nineteen whose immediate future had been invariably attached to an unremarkable village would delight in any opportunity of pleasant conversation as well as in the company like-minded pears. But Albus could not have expected any of that when he met Gellert.

"I came to call on you, since you seem to have forgotten your manners, young man! It's been weeks since you've stopped by my house. That's no way to behave with an old lady, Albus." Miss Bathilda Bagshot, said loudly almost as soon as Albus oppened the door.

"I appologize, miss Bagshot, I've been- preoccupied." Albus bowed his head slightly, stepping aside for her to walk in, but the old woman lifted his chin and placed a hand on the side of his face, looking him up close.

"Oh, that's all right, that's all right. I just worry about, you, poor boy, since- How have you been?" She scrutinized his face, as if trying to make sure everything was in order. "You look thin, have you been eating, properly?"

"Yes." Albus took her hand between his own, more trying to keep her from his face that anything else "Everything is all right Miss Bagshot, thank you."

It was only then that somebody else walked in the hall.

He was a young man, about as old as Albus himself, tall and athletic, with a wild quality to his face and a nearly imperceptible smile in his lips. Albus couldn't help but notice he was exquisitely handsome, as he took his place one step behind Miss. Bagshot, looking Albus in the eye, not bothering to introduce himself at all.

"Oh, this is my nephew, Gellert. He's just come visit from Durmstrang. Dreadful school, you should meet the authors of the history books they use!" The old woman made the introductions, seeming a bit exasperated.

Gellert lowered his head, staring at his shoes. Golden strands of hair fell over his eyes as he laughed silently and more openly for a few seconds, before lifting his head once more to meet Albus's eyes again, and stating, in a low voice:

"You'll have to forgive the passion of my aunt's arguments, she dreads the post-revolutionaries."

"With good reason." Albus remarked, as intrigued by the new acquaintance as he'd not been in a long time.

"I told you, Albus was a sensible young man!" Miss Bagshot stated authoritatively. "He knows his History, yes, he does!"

The two boys laughed.

"Thank you, Miss Bagshot. May I offer you a mug of tea?" Albus inquired.

"I thought you'd never ask!" She turned and walked towards the living room. Albus headed to the kitchen instead, to pick up the tea tray, and, to his astonishment, Gellert followed.

"In all fairness," he said, and Albus tried to conceal his surprise "my aunt has been telling me a lot about you."

"All good things I hope?" The young Dumbledore answered honestly, though somewhat automatically.

"Do you really?" Gellert asked back smiling, something of trickery and daring in his expression. Albus couldn't help but smiling as well.

As a rule, Albus enjoyed Miss. Bagshot's visits. The old woman always briefed him in her latest research topics, and she seemed to value his take on every single one of them. They could go hours and hours discussing an article in the Periodic: History of Magic, and such long talks generally got his mind out of his troubles. The only unpleasant aspect of her visits was an insisting habit to bring a box of every-flavoured beans for them to share. She thought it was the most "jovial" of all candy,and enjoyed the mystery surrounding the flavour till the moment the candy touched her mouth, but one way or another, Albus always seemed to pick the most unpleasant ones.

"You see, I read a book ,about forty or forty-two years ago, which didn't mention the Wars of Giants at all! The author- what was her name?- completely disregarded the Wars as a relevant factor in the development of European magic covenants!"

"I do not agree." Albus objected "If it wasn't for the battle of Gotenburgh, the Giants would never have gone back to the mountains and given up on fighting wizards for camping spots."

"Don't you think you overestimate the giants as an enemy?" Gellert interjected. "Even if they had not gone back, I don't believe their intellect would pose a formidable opponent in battle."

"The matter with giants was never one of intellect-"

"I know, they are resilient, but what does that matter, with the proper set of charms?"

Albus smiled, delighting in finding someone whose arguments were opposed to his, and yet, just as strong.

"I see we shall not readily agree on this subject." He remarked. And his counterpart answered with a smile.

"My nephew is too confident in the power of his own wand. But even magic is not invincible Gellert, you ought to remember that. Both of you ought to remember that." Miss Bagshot interveined. "Oh, by this time we'd be taking some of those marvellous coloured beans, wouldn't we Albus? But my infuriating nephew strongly objected to them."

"I didn't know you enjoyed them!" Gellert explained, as if apologizing. "I haven't quite gotten used to British candy, and I just don't see the appeal in chewing cement flavoured beans!"

"It's quite all right." Albus laughed, unable to say that he too didn't particularly enjoyed Bertie Boots' famous recipe either. "Perhaps I could serve you some biscuits, Miss. Bagshot, I'm sure there must be- -"

The sound of something incredibly heavy hitting the ground twice came from upstairs, and the eyes of those present gazed the staircase. Albus' heart hit his chest cage a little bit harder, as he hopped no other sound would disturbed his guests.

"Is everything- Under control, Albus?" Madame Bagshot, inquired, plenty implied in her words.

"Yes. It's- probably nothing." The young Dumbledore recovered from his surprise in time, and stated that with some detachment in his voice. Gellert looked intrigued, but he was discreet enough not to ask anything.

"Oh- I must be going anyway. My favourite program in WWN is about to start, I ought not to miss it. No, no Gellert-" she signalled her nephew not to stand up. "Don't be impolite, you must stay and help young Albus with the dishes" the witch pointed at the mugs over the tea tray. "No, no- you'd just stand in the way of me listening to my soup anyway! Goodbye, Albus, dear. Bye."

And swinging in her cloak the old woman apparated away, leaving the two young men alone in the room.

Before Albus could say anything, Gellert pointed his wand at the tray and twisted it rapidly so that in a fraction of a second, everything had gone away.

"Everything's been cleaned up and placed over your kitchen's counter." He explained, putting his wand back in his belt, under the cloak. "I thought that would save us some time so we could take a walk across the country. It's a beautiful day outside."

Albus smiled again, disarmed, and picked up a cloak to leave.

"I do not know many people who would agree with you that this is a beautiful day." Albus said as soon as the two of them stepped out of the cottage, looking up at the sky. It was blue, but there were plenty of greyish clouds already, and more of them mounted up slowly, every minute.

"I do not believe you've met many Scandinavians before." He brushed some hair from his forehead "Besides, it's not going to rain."

They walked for a very long time, talking about a wide variety of subjects, till they reached the creek many miles away. The battles of the Wars of Giants, the appreciation of Miss Bagshot for every flavour beans, and even the colours of the flowers in their way became conversation between the two boys. Albus didn't remember being so comfortable around anybody like that. He listened as much as he talked, and he was never bored, never tired, he didn't have to tiptoe around his companion or refrain himself from saying anything that came to his mind. And Gellert didn't seem any less comfortable about him.

Eventually they reached the creek, and by that time they stopped for a while, sat over the green glass, Albus with his back against a tree and Gelert with his elbows on the ground, supporting the weigh of his body. His cloak fell to the side and the British youngster got another look of his wand.

"The handler of your wand is very beautiful."

"Thank you." Gellert pulled it from his belt, sliding a finger over the embossed patterns in the wood. "It's Gregorovitch's work. He was a craftsman for many years before his master would allow him to work with wands. At least that's what everybody says."

"Well- Everybody I even knew in Hogwarts had purchased their wands from Olivander.. I bought my wand in his shop. It's got a phoenix' feather in the core. Olivander's wands always have either a feather from a phoenix, a hair from an unicorn's tail or a string from a dragon's heart."

"Just three core components? I've never known Gregorovitch to follow such a strict rule. This wand has the hair from a trestal's mane in its core."

It took a while for him to look up at Albus, and after a brief moment of hesitation, he handled his wand to the British boy. Dumbledore slided his fingers over the instrument, admiring the care applied in its construction.

"I've always found something appealing about crafts work, but every since I've finished school I've been trying to improve on my skills without the aid of a wand." He gave Gregorovitch his wand back.

"That's useful, but still-" He spinned the instrument between his fingers. "There so much in a wand."

Albus watched him carefully for a second, trying to read the implied meanings in those words. No more than a second, though.

"Do the professor not forbid you to play like that with your wands in the north?"

He pointed at the wand-spinning.

"The east."

"East?"

"East. There are no schools of magic in the whole of Scandinavia. That's why I travelled to Eastern Europe and became a pupil at Durmstrang."

"Indeed?"  
>"Yeah- I- I didn't finish."<p>

"You're on vacation?"

"No, they- they expelled me."

Albus' chin fell in disbelief. It took him a second to realize he was not being polite.

"Perhaps you should have come to Hogwarts." He suggested, after a while. "I've never heard of anybody getting expelled from Hogwarts."

It would always be like that, between the two of them. They'd always known which questions to ask to one another. And which questions not to.

"I doubted your British professors would have been any more tolerant of my private experiments than Durmstrang masters were." Gellert explained.

It was not difficult to notice he resented his old school for robbing him the opportunity of formally graduating, and that he wouldn't tell just everybody he'd been expelled. In fact, it was the first time he mentioned the subject ever since he'd arrived in England. But that conversation with Albus, that first walk across the country was one of those rare situations in which the interlocutor is such a kindred spirit, that trust is established almost instantly, personal topics emerge naturally and you tell the truth, simply because it's important that – if nobody else – that person gets a glimpse of who you really are inside. Was it not a British author who said: "_Seven years would be insufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven days are more than enough for others"?_

"I thought you said it wasn't going to rain!" Albus felt heavy drops of water on his face

"I thought it wasn't!" Gellert exclaimed, delighted that they could switch from personal topics to light conversation in such a natural manner.

"I'll race you back!" He dared his Scandinavian companion.

"You don't know who you're challenging, sir!"

And they ran back, under the heavy rain, only to found themselves wet and breathless, over the mat at Dumbledore's entrance door.

"I've had a great time, Albus, thank you." Gellert smiled. "I must return to my aunt's house now."

"Of course. I enjoyed your company, Gellert. I wish-"

"We will do this again."

There was so much certainty in his voice!

"Now, my British friend, if you excuse me." He smiled again, and with a flit of his cloak, he disappeared.

Gellert's elegant golden hair was the last think Dumbledore saw before his new friend faded away in thin air. And it was invariably the only image on his mind when he laid in bed, hours later, after his hot shower that night.

Gellert came in the next day, than the day after that, and the next. He became a daily visitor, and Albus became dependant upon his company. They walked across the country and down the village, they went swimming in the creek, they stayed inside and played wizards chess for hours listening to the thundering outside. They felt like there was nothing they couldn't do. And nothing they wanted to do without each other.

Before long the legend of the deathly hallows came up, and each of the youngsters were amazed that the other one believed the verity of the story and shared the dream of finding them all. They agreed to go on that search together, and together they drew plans for the world they would someday build. Many things were out of place, but they would fix it all, and when they were done, the world would be a better place. It didn't seem an utopia when they were working together.

"You don't give up, do you?" Gellert asked, unpacking his gift, a thick scarf, sewed by goblins in red and gold. The colours of Gryffindor.

"I'd rather think of that as an elegant persistence." Albus smiled at him, watching his friend placing the scarf around his neck.

"Well." Gellert let his arms down, placing his hands into his pocket. "We both agree it is elegant."

The scandinavian might have been a character from a book by Dickens, dressed like that.

"I think I've explained Hogwarts' house system pretty thoroughly, did I not?"

He had. The system of dividing students in groups that would stimulate healthy competition was very British, and strange to Gellert, who enterteined the exercise of attempting to guess which would be his house, if he ever attended Hogwarts.

"Of course you did! And you will be happy to know I've changed my mind, and we are definitely not Ravenclaw material."

"Of course I'm not! I've been sorted years ago, Gellert!"

"Oh, I know. But you used your eleven-years old devious manipulation skills to manuever that hat over not placing you in Slytherin."

"Slytherin, of all houses!"

"No, Albus, I'm just annoying you!" Gellert punched his friend in the arm, and almost immediately placed an arm over his shoulder, walking alongside Albus. "I truthfully believe Godric Gryffindor must had been eaten to many bad-flavoured beans when he decided to assign a hat to judge the character of prospect students, and I still think summarizing a person in one word – one trait for that matter- is too limited a way of thought!"

"Oh, and the Durmstrang way is better?"

"Well, every dormitory is meant for no more than two students, and all the uniforms are the same."

"Just like crewman in a ship-"

"At least we wouldn't have to worry about anybody else bothering us in our quarters!"

"Major Grindewald-" Albus started, a tone of mockery on his voice . "How could I disagree?"

The two youngsters laughed for a while, and Gellert let go of his friend's shoulders, walking from one side to the other as Albus allowed his body to fall over a chair.

"I still didn't understand what did I do to deserve this scarf."

"Perhaps I do not need an excuse to give you something nice."

"Perhaps you don't-" Gellert looked at his friend curiously. "But I do need to retribute."

"No!"

"Yes! Come on, Albus, I know just what you need, stand up, we're going somewhere!"

"I can not believe you brought me to carnival!"

"You've never been to one before-" Gellert explained. "Very soon we won't have time for these small get-aways, Albus. We must make do with the time we have. Oh look!"

"What?"

"A divination booth!"

"Divination? You must be joking."

"Not at all."

"Absolutelly not."

"Albus. Both of us know it's all humbug, why can't we listen the prediction and have a laugh?"

"I honestly can't think of an answer." Dumbledore said, as his Norse friend pushed him into the tent, where an old man sat over a tall bench, and asked Albus to give him his left hand.

"I see. A long, long life, interrupted abruptly around here, yes. You are strong, young man very strong indeed."

"Am I?" Albus asked impatiently. He had always been a little unease arround muggles, for obvious reasons.

"Yes! And so intelligent! So wise. I see here that you are hardly ever wrong! Interesting..."

"Who'd know- Gellert whispered in his ears. "Maybe there are real palm readers."

Albus restrained himself not to hit Gellert with his right elbow.

Grindewald was still smiling when they left the divination boot, and however crossed Albus was he insisted it had been fun. The two boys walked through the crowd of muggles which had attended the carnival, and although he had not stopped to consider that, it was the first times Albus saw himself walking at ease in the midst of so many ordinary people.

"I never did take divination, you see. I fail to understand the point."

"The point? Well, if nothing else it's amusing to allow a crippled old man to stare at your palm and babble about your future." Gellert insisted.

"Yes, but I meant- The point of divination as a whole. I am not sure it's a good thing to look into the future. I mean, even if we actually could."

At that point, a young woman stopped them and offered some kind of candy, a caramelized apple in a stick, and Gellert accepted two of them, one for Albus, one for himself. He didn't pay of course. None of them gone into details, Albus just assumed he used a non verbal confundus spell on the woman... Be that as it may, the apples were deliciously sweet.

"I don't believe you mean that." Grindewald resumed the conversation once they were far from that park, and sat over the grass of a large green field, the kind of landscape an impressionist might choose for his paintings.

"Mean what?"

"About the future, about not being sure if seeing it would be advantageous."

"Well... Of course I can understand some advantages. Like During a war, being able to see the moves your opponent will make might allow you to better prepare, but still. You forget that, seeing the future one might see things that he does not like."

"Well if you do, you can change that."

"No, not really,-" Albus bit his lower lips, a bit nervous. "Look, I'll give you an example. Imagine there were these two youngsters, two great friends. They seemed to understand each other perfectly, to complete each other in a way none of them had experience before, and they are convinced their friendship will last forever."

"Okay-" Gellert gave one of his imperceptible smiles, much like a doctor who listens to a patient talking about himself in the third person.

"Then one of them sees into the future. Only to realize that he was wrong, terribly wrong, and their friendship was short-lived. He sees that after that, he never met anybody quite like him again, and he is doomed to spend the rest of his life alone. This could drive a man mad."

"But-"

"Wait, I'm not finished. Imagine this person wanted to fix that, so he looked into to find out why that friendship ended in the first place, to try and change whatever it was that had ruined that. Only to find out that the other one simply didn't care about him as much. It just seemed like he did. In the end, the other person didn't feel for him as intensely as he did. How do you change that?"

"You don't." Gellert said simply, laying his back on the grass and turning to look inside Albus' bright blue eyes.

But Abus felt quiet for a moment, and looked away, into the horizon and to the imminent sun down.

"What if I told you I could show you a piece of your future, Albus?"

"I'd tell you to wake up." Albus said, joking, though in his mind he knew that, if someone could ever do that, it was probably Gellert.

"Well, I am wide awake, British boy. And I've got something to show you." He lifted his back, supporting his weight on his elbows, half-and-half between sitting and lying down, while reaching out for something in his pocket.

It turned out to be the folded page of a magazine. A magazine he'd seen before, laying around. The page had a beautiful picture in it, landscapes of a distant place.

"I thought maybe we could go there." Gellert said

"Go here?" Albus asked, his eyes still examning the page on his hands.

"Yes. We have never gone out of town together, it's not far and I think, I think it would be great-"

"I don't know if I could be away for long, we'd have to wait till Alberforth gets back from school, I think—" Albus got lost in his musings. Gellert didn't ask any questions. He didn't know his friends' reasons, but he knew Albus was extremely uncomfortable going into details... He merelly shrugged.

"It doesn't matter if it takes time, I only want us to get away for a while. These mountains are not too far away up north. And there are rumours that the Peverell's travelled through those roads."

Dumbledore looked up at him.

"You think we should start the search already?" He was somewhat surprised.

"No, there's nothing there, I've been there already-" Gellert dismissed the idea. "I just though... Well, it's a beautiful landscape, and we do need to plan our search more carefully. Maybe a different place, different airs will bring us the inspiration we seem to need. Besides, if we are going to carry out our plans will be travelling together for a very long time. It would be nice seeing if you can stand being my travelling companion for a few days before we attempt to do it during years.

Dumbledore smile. Somehow, he felt he was being rewarded for coming back to Godric's Hollow, for looking after Ariana. He had always wanted to travel the world, but if he had gone with Elphias, it wouldn't be half as great as travelling alongside Grindewald certainly would be. And that was the only thing in his mind when he answered:

"I think it would be perfect."

That was not the first time they laid down on that field to watch the sunset. In fact, in tose first few months, they met every single day, and talked for hours. They got to known each other, like perhaps nobody else would ever know any of them, and they enjoyed each other's company, dreaming of the glorious future ahead, and of the great things they would accomplish together.

Still, it took Gellert all that time, before he learned what Dumbledore's voice sounded like, when he was scared.

"Gellert! Gellert, upstairs!"

He'd never been to the second floor of his friend's cottage, and he certainly had never been called by Albus with so much urgency, but he ran with everything he had following the sounds of heavy objects crashing against the walls of a room whose door he'd never seen opened before.

"Albus, where are you?"

He stood still. There was a girl in the room, a blond girl, several years younger than himself, levitating a few centimetres from the floor, her eyes closed, her hair untidy, and she seemed to be send some sort of 'reductio' spell all over the place.

"Stupefy!"

The red flash from his wand hit the little girl in the flank, and she dropped motionless in the ground. The shelves quit exploding around him and Gellert ran towards Albus, staunching the blood dripping from his nose with his wand.

"Albus-"

"Gellert- This- This is my sister."

However surprised he was, Grindewald stopped Dumbledore from saying anything else before he could attend to his wounds. He fixed Albus' broken arm with a simple spell, applied an anaesthetizing charm over his bruises, and removed the dry blood from his face and hands with a Tergeo.

"Do you still feel any pain?" He asked seriously, almost like a physician caring for an injured patient.

"No." Dumbledore stared at the floor.

There was much to say. But nothing was said while Gellert helped Albus up and they walked downstairs, to the living room. There was also silence when the British Boy prepared them a cup of tea, and it was only when Dumbledore sat in front of Gellert, the fire lit, his hands warm by the hot cup of tea he was holding that he told Gellert the whole story. Everything that had happened all those years ago, everything he could remember. And oh, he remembered it so vividly. The faces of the muggle boys, the bloodied clothes of his sister, torn apart in several places, the voice of his father cutting the air like a blaze:

_Crucio_

"Albus?"

He'd lost himself in thought for a few seconds when that particular memory came to mind.

"They hurt her just because she was different. She was too small to control her powers, and they saw it, so- In any case, after that, Ariana lost complete control over her mind. She never spoke again, and sometimes she bursts out like- like what you saw upstairs."

"I see-"

"She's my responsibility, but I- Only Alberforth can make her calm down, so as soon as he's done with school I'm -"

He was leaving. He didn't want to be in that house anymore, he didn't want to be responsible for Ariana. He'd postponed too much for her already. He'd delayed his whole future for a younger sister with no future at all, and he resented it. Just like he's once resented his mother for imposing a disabled sister over him, striping Albus from his choices. He resented his sister for being in the backyard that day, for being so vulnerable to those muggle boys. He resented her for not being strong enough to recover. He resented her for the instability of her mind. He resented her for not turning out to be the beautiful young woman who'd been his friend and partner, the baby sister he would protect from unsuitable boyfriends, the brilliant companion Albeforth could never have been. He resented it all.

"Leaving." He completed his sentence, raising his bright blue eyes to face Gellerts' face, not a second before he felt the other's right hand over his shoulder.

"We'll be leaving, Albus. Together."

"Together."He repeated, and in that moment, there was no doubt in his mind.

Soon after that incident, Alberforth came back home. Albus and his brother had never been close. The truth was that Alberforth had disappointed him in so many ways. He had never been his peer, his copanion, someone who understood him and trusted him. All of those things Gellert was. No, Alberforth was unremarkable. His only talent seemed to be calming down their sister's rages. And she laid in his lap in the living room, the very day Albus and Gellert told him they were planning on taking a trip together.

But Alberforth had been listening in on their plans. He'd stolen Albus' journal and read about what they intended to do, the places they intended to go, and he knew Albus was too impatient to wait for him to finish school. Wherever they were going, they intended to take Ariana along. He wouldn't accept that.

To describe the struggle that followed would be more than Albus could bare. As he closed his eyes, sat on his spot over the window, he remembered the flashed of lights coming out of their wants, hitting the walls, hitting the windows. He remembered the angry voice of Gellert defending himself against Alberforth.

"You should grow up, Alberforth, and quit being a petulant child. You are jealous of your brother, you have always been, and that's why you use Ariana as an excuse to keep him tied to this house when he could be out conquering the world. You know that! Albus could be anyplace he wanted, but you have him here, and you rejoice on that, because you know you could never do what Albus can!"

"You're insane!" Alberforth protested, and however hard Gellerts words may have sounded, Albus said nothing. Those were after all, his own thoughts, his own repressed emotions, bursting out through his friends mouth.

Even when Gellert used a cruciatus curse Albus was confused. After all, Gellert was protecting him. And it was only the memory of Alberforth as a little kid that made Albus turn his wand to Gellert in an attempt to make him stop.

He was no older than six years old at the time, and in spite of his nine o' clock bed time, he used to remain awake for hours, reading under the light of a magical candle by his bed side. He particularly enjoyed doing so in stormy nights, with thunders roaring outside his window, and it was in a night like that that Alberforth knocked on his door.

He was much smaller than albus, even if there was barely more than a year of difference between their births, and he held a teddy bear in his hands. It looked like he'd been crying.

"Albus," he asked in a thin voice "I dreamed of monsters under my bed. Can I sleep with you tonight?"

And because it felt right at the time, he said yes.

"There is plenty of space."

He remembered looking down at Alberforth, wacthing him fall asleep and feeling – at the early age of six years old – that it was his job to protect his young brother. It was the memory of that day that came to Albus' memories as Alberforth's screams cut the night, and it was that memory which made him wish Gellerts wand was pointed towards him instead.

But it wasn't, and in the dwell that followed, somebody else was hit. Ariana. And all of them knew instantly that the girl had been killed though they didn't know whose spell had provoked that. Alberforth laid on the ground, every inch of his sixteen years old body in pain on account of the unforgivable curse. He held his sister's motionless body between his arms and cried, desperately, blaming both his brother and Gellert for stripping him of the one person in the world he truly loved.

And for a while, Albus and Gellert stood there, holding their wands, staring t one another, thousands of unspoken works adding tension to the silence. A minute went by – or perhaps several hours – till Gellert lowered his wand, turned his back, and walked away.

_I could have stopped him._

Laying lorn on a chair by the window, the fire whisky red bottle by his feet, on the floor, seemingly a little bit more empty than it had been a few minutes before, Albus couldn't stop himself from remembering that night, and the obvious implications. I could have stopped him.

It had been confusing. He remembered staring at Gellert in this very room. He knew all his friend had done, even the curse on his brother, had been to protect him. In the end, Gellert really wanted Dumbledore by his side. But he had hurt his little brother. Perhaps killed his little sister. And Dumbledore could no longer go with him, anymore than he could use his wand to hurt Grindewald.

But there was more. When Grindewald walked out of their cottage that night, there was a great deal more than just the two of them at stake. Albus knew he would continue with their plan, he would continue to pursue the greater good, and the things they had planned to do together, Gellert would find a way to do alone. But he had no idea there would be so many consequences, or had he?

By consequences, of course, he meant what was written in the newspapers scattered all over the table in the kitchen, the larger sofa behind him and the rug by that sofa. News from the east, lists of missing people, of ruined buildings, of the trail of destruction Gellert left behind in his pursue fo the greater good. Hundreds of people had already been killed, and Dumbledore knew, more than anybody, that there would be a great deal more. He also knew he might be the one causing those deaths.

_In any search for knowledge there are always unintended consequences._ He remembered Gellert saying precisely those words when they discussed their plans, and Albus couldn't help but wonder if he knew back then that such consequences meant the deaths of so many people. He would be lying if he said no. But at the time, it didn't seem to matter.

Of course, he had seen Gellert and known him better than any journalist ever could. When the newspaper said a dozen people had been killed, he knew they'd probably been tortured and killed, discarded once there was no more use for them. Each name in those lists of casualties had suffered what Alberforth would have if Albus had not been there to stop it.

He knew that. He knew that would happen when Gellert walked alone from him house that night. He knew he was going to that to more people, and he did not stop him. He didn't move. He watched him go, he was even hurt because he had wanted to go along so badly! And so every one of those deaths on the newspaper was on him, just as much as it was on Grindewald.

The scandinavian wizard had left the scarf Dumbledore had given him behind. And Albus had that same scarf wrapped around his neck now, not so much because it was cold but because he wanted – and he was not proud of that – to remember Gellert's scent. A scarf sewed in the colours of Gryffindor, house of the brave. It had taken Dumbledore to get to his early twenties to understand what the Sorting Hat meant, when he mentioned the word "courage". It was much more than a word, like Gellert suggested. It was not the courage to go into the dark forest, or to climb the astronomy tower after midnight. It was not the courage to pursue the greater good in spite of the consequences. It was the courage to do the right thing, even if it meant pointing the wand at a friend. Even if it meant pointing your wand at the one person he had ever- loved. In his early twenties, the brilliant Albus Dumbledore finally understood what courage was all about.

It was his first test. And for the first time, he failed.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's Note:<strong> I really like this story... I wrote it a while ago... I remember writing the first couple thousand words and then forgetting about it for a long time... When I finally picked it up again to finish, the whole story had been altered. This here is the final product. I quite like it... I hope you did too, which I suspect you did, seeing as it's a lengthy fic and you stuck with it till the end... I can only hope it was an enjoyable reading... _

_The poem that inspired the title for this story is one I read on Mr. Leonard Nimoy's twitter... he said it helped him in his youth... I often read it again, in the hopes that it __will help me with mine... _

_LLAP_


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